


Will you dance with me Mr Solo?

by majel



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5025040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majel/pseuds/majel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It really is a shame”, he said as he opened the door and looked back at him, “That you decided to never ask me to dance ever again. I thought we were quite good together.” He winked and with that he was out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will you dance with me Mr Solo?

He was standing in front of Solo and felt utterly ridiculous. How on earth did he agree to this? One moment Waverly was running into the room telling them they were off to a new mission in Stockholm, the next he was awkwardly shuffling from foot to foot about to dance with Napoleon Solo. Of all the goddam people on earth why did it have to be him?

If Illya was honest to himself, and he didn't quite see the point in deceiving on oneself, he knew full well how he got himself into this situation. It was his reluctance to admitting any weaknesses he had and Solo's incredibly annoying habit of noticing any signs of discomfort he was showing.

As soon as Gaby and Waverly had left the room he had looked him up and down, a smug expression on his face. 

“Ballroom dancing it is for you two eh?”, he said leaning on a nearby drawer. “That sounds like fun.”

“It's work”, Illya said, and he felt his temper rising. As usual when he was left alone with Solo. Which happened quite too often if he considered it. 

“It's still fun though. I get to chat up all the nice rich ladies, while you have to play fiancee again. At least you get to swish and swoosh Gaby around the dance floor. Needless to say you are perfectly familiar with all European ballroom dances.”

Illya stared at him, wishing Solo would just disappear or that he could at least give him a good punch, but that would probably violate Waverly's “No beating up team-members”-policy.

“As you said needless to say. So why exactly ...”, he said but was disrupted by Napoleon whose eyebrows were raised provocatively, a spark of a challenge in his eyes.

“So you are familiar with the Swedish fox? You could show me right here?”

His hands deeply dug into his pockets, Illya tried to calm down his anger. This man was unbelievable, and he wanted to slam his head into that vase over there so much, that he had to deliberately draw deep steady breaths. He knew this was a test. Napoleon had probably made up this dance hoping he would expose his none existing knowledge about dancing by claiming he knew it. On the other hand while being tremendously irritating Solo wasn't stupid, and he could have guessed he was getting his approach and could very well have chosen a real dance to trick him. So however he decided he was surrendering his repetition to sheer luck.  
Illya decided that focusing on not brutally murdering Napoleon Solo was all he was capable right know and wrathfully glared at him across the room.

That only seemed to amuse Solo further, and he grinned at him. “You have no idea if I’ve given you a real dance or not right?”, he said looking rather pleased with himself, “For your information the Swedish Fox is entirely made up by my own brilliant imagination. But you Mister got a problem. You are required to dance on this mission. So now you have two possibilities-”.

Napoleon was holding out his hand, a big grin on his face. He was obviously enjoying this and the only thing Illya was left to do was uncomfortably bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“-One”, and he held up one finger, “You can run to Waverly. Tell him you can not pull off the ballroom dancing and ask to swap with me. Or Two”, and he held up a second finger, “If you ask nicely I can show you.”

Illya was pretty sure he lost control of his face that second. “I am not going to make myself an object of amusement for you. No, I think I can handle this by myself perfec-”

“Fine. I was just offering!”, Napoleon grinned and threw his hand up in defense. “See how you get that managed by yourself till Saturday. Goodnight Peril!”

Just as Solo was about to reach for the door handle Illya's body betrayed him again. “Maybe you could just remind me of the steps”, he blurted out. He didn't mean for that to come out. He didn't mean for any words to come out to be precise but found he couldn't quite stop himself. “My dancing skills might be a bit rusty these days. I haven't had much chance to practice lately.”

He stared at the floor. That was most definitely one of the most embarrassing moments he had experienced so far. Did he really just ask Napoleon Solo for help? With dancing?  
He would probably never let him hear the end of it. 

Napoleon laughed. It was light and cheerful. When Illya looked up Solo grinned at him. He was so untroubled by the whole situation that Illya felt this undefinable nudge of irritation again. The one which left him feeling alarmed, nearly thrilled, while slightly out of place and that he couldn’t quite put a word to. 

“You Russian spies must be having a pretty plain life. Or you obviously haven't been keeping the right company!” Amusement was sparkling in Solo's eyes and with a smirk he winked at him.

Illya frowned. He knew the man was a flirt. And he knew he would probably use and do anything to benefit himself but he couldn’t help to feel puzzled. His best guess at Solo's intentions wasn't anything but vague, and he was not sure what to make of the man in front of him. Still he was his best bet at getting through the mission without any … unpleasant incidents. He wasn't quite keen on making a fool of himself in front of the whole Swedish royalty.

“Alright. Let's just get this over with and not speak of it again.”

Napoleon laughed again. “Yes sir!”, he mocked, while taking a few steps forward. A very pleased smile spread across his face as he hold out a hand. “You really should loosen up a bit. Have some fun. Not be so serious all the time. Look at you, all panicked. Come on. I only bite when specifically asked to.” And he winked at Illya once more.

Deliberately ignoring the offered hand Illya moved a few inches from the wall, still keeping a watchful eye on his opponent. He was ready to throw in a good punch as soon as needed, though Solo didn't seem in a ructious mood. 

“Always up for a fight eh? Well that's not gonna help you with your dancing. Dancing's about teamwork. Right. So usually you would actually ask me to dance to start with. You'd hold out your hand, just like me and say 'Will you dance with me Mister Solo?'”

Illya stared at him. “I am not going to ask you to dance with me Solo! That's just never gonna to happen!”

“Shame really”, he muttered and took another few steps closer to him, “You're just no fun Peril.” Napoleon was now close enough for Illya to see his chest tremble as he laughed, and he awkwardly shuffled his weight from foot to foot. This closeness made him slightly nervous, and he felt his mouth go dry. Yeah, he knew perfectly well how he got himself into this situation. Had they ever been this close to each other before?

He cleared his throat and before his mind could gain control he blurted out: “You are pretty close Solo. I don't quite think that's appropriate, not even for you.”

“Ah well that's the point of dancing isn't it?”, the Napoleon smirked and for a second Illya feared he was about to close even the last few remaining inches between them. Instead he raised his hand again and after a questioning look from Illya added: “Look I'm gonna put my hand on your shoulder now and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't knock me straight to the floor.”

Illya stiffened, as Napoleon lightly rested his palm on his shoulder. 

“Now you place your hand just above my hip and take my other hand into yours”

Solo held up his other hand and after a long breath Illya forced himself to take it. He shook his head to force away the emptiness that was about to take over his thoughts, uncertainly reaching for the other's hip. Solo felt surprisingly boney, and he could feel the heat radiating of his skin. It was a comfortable warmth and Illya realised that he didn't feel as uneasy as he thought he would.

Napoleon chuckled. “See not as bad.”

Illya looked at him and tried for a straight expression, though he was sure he might have smirked a bit. “We'll see about that when you have managed not to step on my feet or knock me over. You do tend to be tremendously sloppy with the tasks you're given!”

“Oi!”, the other one called, playfully shoving his shoulder in an attempt to emphasize his outrage, and Illya felt himself relax a little. He had to admit this situation was actually quite comical and they really should laugh it off.

“Right, and now we dance. We are going to try for the basic steps of a waltz alright? So you are going to put your right foot ahead, shift your weight onto it, take a step to the side and bring the right foot in again. We'll go slowly and you just follow me. If you can manage!”

He said that with a grin, and while he took a step back Illya had to really focus to not simply push him to the floor for that and instead try to imitate his movements. They managed and came to a halt in front of each other.

“And now we repeat the other way around.”

Illya focused on his steps. They were walking in a rectangular pattern and after a few tries he got the hang of it. 

“Now, look at me”, Napoleon said, “You always keep your eyes on your partner. Especially with such a pretty one like me.” 

Illya tried to focus on the movement and not to notice he was close enough to see all the colourful spots in the other man's eyes. Keeping a steady gaze on him wasn't helping much.

“Gaby knows how to dance. So just try to let her lead you across the floor and follow her movements just like now.” 

During the next step Solo slightly pushed him and they were moving out of their static pattern and across the room. Thoughts on the steps, Illya tried to not stumble over his own feet. He had to fight the urge to struggle against Napoleon's lead and tried to follow his directions. 

Soon they were spinning around the room. There was no music, but Napoleon seemed to have an instinctive feeling for rhythm and kept them in time. He was smiling at him and Illya wondered if that was due to the fact that the American excelled at something he clearly failed. But there was an odd touch of mischievousness to his eyes, and Illya could feel his palms start to sweat. Now that he wasn't concentrating on the steps anymore, he could even smell his opponent. The smell of a rainy day, with a sharp edge to it. A strange kind of excitement was bubbling up in his stomach, which made him feel slightly dizzy. He wasn't sure where it came from and whether he really wanted to know. His whole body seemed alarmed now, his skin itching. 

He was so caught up in his own senses that he inevitably had to loose the rhythm. He tripped over his partners feet and nearly overbalanced, but a firm arm caught him around his back, keeping him from tumbling to the floor. 

Illya had instinctively reached out behind him to break his fall and found he would only have stumbled against a wall, because his fingertips were now brushing against the cool wallpaper. The arm was still there though, keeping him up and pressing him against the other man. He could literally feel the other's heart beating against his chest, and he didn't dare to take a breath. His own pulse was hammering frenetically in his ears.

Finally Solo let got and Illya sank against the wall. The American didn't move away though. He simply rested his hand beside his head and looked at him. His face was close enough for their noses to bump into each other if one of them moved. Illya's brain or body – he wasn't quite sure which part of him to blame – utterly betrayed him that second – again! He was sure he should punch the other one, or at least shove him off him but he just glared back, his breath coming irritatingly fast. He could feel the heat of Napoleon's face, felt his warm breath on his own. His eyes were dark and unreadable. 

“You should ask me to dance more often”, he said and before Illya had any chance to react he lowered his lips down on his. 

Something in Illya snapped back into action and he tried to struggle against him. This sure wasn't right. They were not supposed to do this. Hell, two guys weren't even supposed to dance!

But Napoleon's other arm was now pressing against his shoulder, keeping him in place and his resistance faded with every passing second until his mind was swiped empty, and the only thing left to do was to kiss back and ruffle through this incredibly silly hair. The lips on his were soft but firm and he tasted smoke and mints and something like lemongrass. 

Napoleon Solo kissed like he lived and danced. Teasingly, passionately and with a grin. Illya felt his hand wrap around his head, pulling him closer, while Solo's body was pressing him against the wall. Their bodies moved against each other, their mouths locked. 

They desperately clinged to one another, kissing, biting, licking. It was a game, a constant fight for the upper hand and God, Illya wasn't sure he lost either way. He just wanted to get lost, to taste and explore and by the wicked things Napoleon's tongue was doing to him he was sure the other one was up to similar things. 

This wasn't like anything Illya had ever experienced before. This wasn't sweet. This was rough, and needy and oh so very good. 

When they finally broke apart, they were breathless and Illya felt like the world was spinning. He couldn't quite warp his mind around what just happened and helplessly sank back against the wall.

Napoleon took a few steps back, straightening his clothes. He didn't seem startled at all. He just grinned at Illya as he turned to leave. 

“It really is a shame”, he said as he opened the door and looked back at him, “That you decided to never ask me to dance ever again. I thought we were quite good together.” He winked and with that he was out.

~*~*~

Napoleon was in his room. Sweden had been a success and he had returned home, while the happy couple was left making their excuses to the Swedish royalty. He was in a good mood. After getting back he had treated himself with a few drinks at the hotel bar and even got to chat up a nice blonde waitress, who obviously regretted her shift lasted a little while longer.

He was just loosening his tie, when there was a knock on his door.

“Come on in. It's open!”, he called, not sure if he was all that pleased about this late disturbance. He liked his quiet in the evenings and made sure the other two only disturbed him in emergencies. But it could also very well be the nice blonde one and that actually wouldn't be all that bad.

The disruption turned out to be Illya, who pretty much marched into his room. A stern look on his face. He definitely would have preferred the waitress. There was no way this was going to end well. He hoped he just wasn't about to confess he accidentally bet up any of the present monarchs while going to the loo.

When Illya didn't do anything but stand in front of him, he felt the need to break the silence.

“That dancing went well didn't it?”, Napoleon said and grinned.

Illya came a few steps closer. “Indeed it did. Thank you for that.”

“Ah you're welcome”, Napoleon shrugged, “Anytime. Just let me know.” He winked at the him.

“Yeah, though I noticed you didn't get your fair share of dancing tonight. All those lovely ladies and you went home alone … So ...”

Now Illya grinned, which took him by surprise. The Russian rarely ever grinned. If he was honest we wasn't sure if he had ever seen him do so. And then to his utter disbelieve he simply held out a hand.

“Will you dance with me Mr Solo?”

Napoleon smiled. 

END.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumbler [here](http://itsmajel.tumblr.com/)


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